I do photography for a hobby and I belong to a local camera club. Sometimes we'll join up with other clubs and go on a communal excursion to some place of interest, running a competition to see who comes back with the best photos.
The particular excursion that resulted in this incident happened on a Saturday when we all headed up to a national park. There were going to be several categories in the judging. You know the sort of thing -- best photo of the day, best panoramic view, best bird, best beast, best bit of bark on a bush. More categories than photographers, sometimes.
We all rolled up to the park ranger's office and received our little maps and cautions and bureaucratic threats and then the idea was that we'd all go our own sweet way. Among the things that we were given were details of a couple of tracks that were strictly off limits.
I have one of those minds that are always curious. I want to know why when I'm told something. (Very useful trait for a Systems Analyst.) So when we were told that a couple of tracks were off limits I just naturally lingered after the rest headed out and asked why. (Never push a bureaucrat when you're in a group. They get snotty and just say it's a rule. Nail them afterwards, one on one, and show that you're honestly interested in the background data. They like to be able to justify their decisions.)
In this case, the ranger advised me that one track had suffered some sort of problem and they were revegetating the area, keeping it isolated till the new vegetation had a chance to settle.
The second trail, it turned out, was flat-out dangerous. It was a trail that climbed up the side of a hill and there'd been some severe erosion and rock fracturing towards the top. What was worse was at the top of the trail was a nice rocky ledge where people would stand to take panoramic photos of the park.
That ledge was severely cracked and was like to come down at any moment, especially if anyone walked on it. Rather than wait for the thing to fall naturally, probably onto the head of some innocent tourist, the park management were planning on forcing the issue in the near future. (A bit of primer cord and away she'd go.)
With that, I headed into the park, idly keeping my eyes open for a decent setting to set up and shoot. Hopefully, one that wasn't already occupied by a camera buff.
An hour or so later I had a couple of superb shots in my camera (along with probably a hundred or so duds) and I was looking for a trail that would take me higher. I cast a wistful look and the closed hill trail and was just in time to see Georgia nipping up it.
Georgia is a very nice young woman and quite a good photographer. (Not in my class of course, but few are.) She was especially good at panorama photos and I knew just where she was going. Up that trail to that treacherous rock at the top, and she was just the sort of girl to take a chance and stand on the extreme edge of the rock to get her photo.
Standing on the very edge of that rock, it seemed to me, would put maximum pressure on the fracture. I muttered something rude to myself and headed up after her.
Across the start of the trail was a chain and a Keep Out, Danger, sign. I stepped over it and headed on up. Reaching the top there was the ledge, a temporary fence put up between it and the trail with, naturally, a Keep Off, Danger sign posted conspicuously.
I looked at the rock and I could actually see cracks running along it, crossing from one side to the other. None of the cracks were contiguous, but there were plenty of them, and once a couple of the bigger ones joined up that ledge was going down.
And Georgia? She had blithely hopped over the chain and crossed to the very edge of the ledge to take her photos, just as I'd predicted.
"Georgia," I called, keeping my voice down so as not to startle her, "You'd better come off from there. The ledge is dangerous."
She glanced over her shoulder at me and just laughed.
"Don't be silly," she said. "This ledge as been here since forever. I always take shots from it."
